


The Hound of Covent Garden

by fawsley



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawsley/pseuds/fawsley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is tailing John...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hound of Covent Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nepthys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nepthys/gifts).



> For nepthys_uk in thanks for a great evening of Sherlockness.  
> Contains bad punnage.

John could easily hide within a crowd, and London being one big crowd made his anonymity even simpler. So when it clicked that he was being followed, relentlessly followed, it wasn’t so much a threat as a challenge.

He’d first noticed the hound on his trail when dodging buses in Duncannon Street. Not that he’d realised he had a hound just then, but there he was again, lurking on the corner of Brydges Place as John turned into Bedfordbury. Nobody in their right mind lurked in Brydges Place unless they were up to no good. And very skinny into the bargain.

So the game began through the labyrinth of Covent Garden, John never rushing, never loitering, just keeping on keeping on and keeping an eye out for his hound as he went. Not that his follower had taken any great pains to melt into the throng, if anything he’d done exactly the opposite. Either he wanted John to notice him or he really was a very bad hound.

Not the latter, because he was always there, a glimpse away, however many twists and turns, doublings-back and circles John managed to weave into his route, in the process of which he realised to his pleasure just how good he was getting at creating a perfect mental map of his surroundings. Sherlock would be proud of him.

In the end John got fed up and wiggled his way back to where they’d started so as to duck into The Harp for, he told himself, a much deserved pint. The hound wasn’t long behind, sidling up to the bar beside John and managing to queue-jump in the process. Though he did buy John his pint.

‘Not exactly a very convincing disguise. That hat stands out a mile. What on earth were you playing at, apart from giving us both a bit of exercise?’

Sherlock removed the offending item of headgear, stared at it a moment, then gave it a friendly punch before planting it squarely upon John’s own head.

‘Stalking you, my _dear_ Watson!’


End file.
